The Golden Lion of the West
by Varangian9
Summary: Prince Joffrey has been fostered by his grandfather Tywin for the past five years. He returns to King's Landing right before King Robert and his family are to go North after Jon Arryn's death. Molded for the Kingship by Tywin, Joffrey has even greater ambitions.
1. Winterfell

**Note: Characters are the ages they were in the show. Joffrey is 15 and Sansa is 13 when they meet at Winterfell.**

* * *

**Prologue:**

"No, please don't make me go! I-I promise, I'll be better from now on!" Joffrey's green eyes were wet with tears as he implored his parents one final time to change their minds.

His mother was crying as well and hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry, sweetie, I'm so so sorry..." Cersei had fought tooth and nail to stop Robert from sending her darling boy away. She hadn't been successful, but at least she had managed a compromise: instead of being sent up to be raised by Eddard Stark and the rest of those dull-witted Northern savages as the King had wanted, Joffrey would go to Casterly Rock to live with her father, his only living grandparent, Lord Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West. It was far from a perfect situation, but at least he would be with family.

Robert looked at mother and son with an exasperated expression. "Alright, that's enough of that, both of you. Boy, I already told you, my mind's made up. You don't listen to me? Fine. But your grandfather won't be so easy on you, I'll tell you that. Tywin Lannister is not a man you want to anger; so by the Gods if you pull another stunt like the one with that poor cat under his watch…"

"That's enough, Robert!" Cersei glared at her husband, her eyes red from crying all morning.

Joffrey appeared stunned that for once all his complaining and tantrums didn't get him what he wanted in the end. His face looked positively betrayed as he stared wordlessly at his father, mouth agape.

Robert was unmoved. "Well, boy, it's time to go."

And so, with his sworn shield – Sandor Clegane, called "the Hound" – and accompanied by the Kingsguard, Joffrey rode into the west, to where his grandfather was Lord...

* * *

**5 Years later…**

The morning was cold and cloudy when Joffrey got his first sight of Winterfell; an ominous warning of the coming end of the long summer. He was among the first of the riders that filled the castle's courtyard as Baratheon and Lannister banners flew in the wind all around him. His expression was morose as he dismounted from his horse. He really had no desire to go north, especially not after he had just returned home for the first time in five years. His mother had been overjoyed to see him again and his brother and sister, who were so young when he left, were excited as well. They were the same age now as when he had left King's Landing for the first time. He almost felt bad for mercilessly tormenting Tommen and Myrcella all those years ago, especially considering the indifferent reactions he got from the rest of his family, including the father he so used to look up to.

Joffrey followed his father as he came up to greet Ned Stark. They both had big smiles on their faces and embraced each other like brothers.

"Nine years! Nine long years! Why haven't I seen you? Where the hells have you been?" Robert chided his old friend.

"Guarding the North for you, Your Grace. Winterfell is yours," Ned replied.

Robert grinned. "Cat!" He hugged her as well.

"Your Grace," Catelyn Stark replied with a smile.

Robert turned to Joffrey. "And this is my firstborn son, Joffrey," he said with somewhat less enthusiasm than he had displayed just a moment before.

"Lord and Lady Stark," Joffrey greeted politely. "It's an honor to finally meet you." Robert looked at him with some surprise.

"Likewise, my Prince," Ned said with a nod.

Catelyn nodded at her husband's words and continued to smile. "We thank you, Prince Joffrey. It is our utmost pleasure to have you here and we hope you had a pleasant journey north." Joffrey had to keep himself from rolling his eyes at that. As far as he could see, the North was nothing but a vast and gloomy and practically empty wasteland, but he managed to fake a grin in return.

The King continued down the line, paying his respects to each member of the Stark family with Joffrey following along. When they reached Ned Stark's eldest daughter, Sansa, Joffrey gave her a more genuine smile. She was really quite pretty and he knew that soon she was to be his betrothed. Her face reddened as she smiled back at him.

* * *

That night, a great feast was held in honor of the King. Joffrey and his siblings were seated with the Stark children, him between his two siblings and across from Sansa Stark. The smells of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filled the castle's great hall as a singer strummed a harp and sang sweet songs while a hundred drunken and cheerful conversations went on all around.

For what felt like a long while, Joffrey ate silently. He felt somewhat awkward. Sansa kept glancing at him as the meal went on, and Joffrey supposed he had better begin to get to know his bride to be sooner rather than later. He didn't have any idea what to say, though; he hadn't really had any contact with anyone his own age who was even remotely close to being a social equal in the past five years. Sighing, he finally began to open his mouth to say something when-

SPLAT!

"Arya!"

There was laughter from everyone sitting nearby as a piece of pie hit Sansa and slid down her face, ruining her dress. Joffrey couldn't help laughing a bit himself. At the sight of this, Sansa's face went red again and tears began to fill her eyes. "I hate you! You always ruin everything!" she screamed at her little sister who was still laughing uproariously.

Sansa ran from the hall as lady Catelyn at the head table signaled to her eldest son, Robb, who seemed amused at the situation.

"Alright, time for bed," Robb said, a smile still on his face as he picked Arya up and, ignoring her protests, took her out of the hall as well.

Joffrey sighed again and went back to his dessert.


	2. On the Kingsroad

**Note: This chapter will contain some important ****dialogue and events from canon that I felt were necessary to the story. They are slightly but significantly altered to reflect the divergence from canon and some of both the changes and the things that remain the same about Joffrey's personality after being away from King's Landing for five years.**

* * *

Joffrey thought that life seemed to be a little gloomier for everyone else after Bran Stark fell from the tower he had been climbing.

Joffrey had been hunting boar in the wolfswood with his father and his men, as well as men from Winterfell when it happened, and he couldn't imagine why the incident seemed to make even his mother uneasy, but he didn't much care. He had given his condolences to Lord and Lady Stark as no doubt his grandfather would have pestered him to do, and as the royal caravan made its way back south through the Riverlands, life went on as it always did and who knew what the future would bring?

* * *

The sun shone a beautiful golden over the deep green grass of summer on the day, soon after they had begun their journey back south that Joffrey finally began to know the heart of his Queen to be.

The Royal procession had stopped at an inn by the Trident, where Joffrey's father had dealt Rhaegar Targaryen his final blow, scattering the rubies of his armor across the riverbank like gushing blood.

A bored Joffrey had seen Sansa walking with her direwolf on a leash in the late morning and finally went up to her and asked her to join him on his own walk. She was naturally very pleased and readily agreed. And so they strolled along the riverbank. Joffrey had brought a wineskin which he handed wordlessly to Sansa after taking a gulp himself.

"I probably shouldn't," Sansa said uncertainly. "Father usually only lets us have a small cup at feasts…"

"My princess can drink as much as she wants," Joffrey replied. "Don't worry... You're safe with me."

Sansa smiled at him and took a small sip of the wine.

They continued on for some time, passing the wineskin back and forth, as Sansa talked about boring things as women tended to do and Joffrey halfheartedly listened.

It was a relief to him when the pair came across two children ineptly practicing swordplay with sticks by the riverbank. Joffrey recognized one of them from the feast back at Winterfell. He could see her direwolf lounging lazily under the shade of a nearby tree.

"Arya!" Sansa shouted.

Hearing this, the two ended their mock-battle.

"What are you doing here?" asked Arya. "Go away."

Joffrey gave Sansa an amused look. "Your sister, If I recall correctly... And who are you, boy?"

The boy who Arya had been playing with paled at being addressed by Joffrey.

"Mycah, my lord."

"He's the butcher's boy," Sansa added.

"He's my friend!" Arya said.

"A butcher's boy who wants to be a Knight, eh?" Joffrey taunted. "Pick up your sword, butcher's boy. Let's see how good you are."

The boy looked terrified. "She asked me to, my Lord. She asked me to!"

Joffrey scowled. "I'm your prince, not your lord, and I said pick up your sword."

"It's not a sword, my prince," the boy pleaded desperately. "It's only a stick."

"And you're not a Knight," Joffrey replied. "Only a butcher's boy. That was my lady's sister you were hitting, do you know that? And you offend me, do you know that? I think I should teach you to offend me no more."

"Stop it!" Arya shouted.

"Arya, stay out of this!" Sansa warned.

Joffrey drew his sword. "I won't hurt him... much." As he said this, he made a small cut to the boy's cheek with the blade. And then suddenly, the grin was knocked off his face as Arya swung her stick into his back. Hard. He fell onto his knees, giving the butcher's boy the chance to run away. "You filthy little bitch!" he screamed as he got up and pointed his sword at her.

He was enraged that this stupid little girl had managed to knock him on to the ground in front of Sansa, but took a deep breath to calm himself. After all, no good could come from killing or badly injuring the daughter of the new Hand of the King. Not yet. Perhaps after his own reign began-

"AAAAAHHHH!"

Out of nowhere her savage wolf leapt at Joffrey, knocking him to the ground again and causing him to drop his sword, while biting down on his arm and not letting go.

Sansa was horrified. "Arya, Arya, tell it to stop, tell it to leave him alone!" she cried frantically as the beast tore the skin from Joffrey's hand.

"Nymeria!" Arya called in a panic. "Nymeria!" Finally she managed to pull the creature off of Joffrey who lay groaning in the grass. Arya stared at him for a moment, obviously shocked at what had just happened, before she and the wolf both ran off.

Sansa knelt down by Joffrey's side in concern. "Oh, my prince, my poor prince, look what they did to you. Stay here, I'll go back to the inn and bring help."

"Then go! Don't touch me," Joffrey said, his expression angry and full of hate. Sansa looked hurt but didn't say anything as she got up to go get help.

Just as she had started to leave though, Joffrey called back to her. "Wait."

She turned back to him. "Yes, my Prince?"

"I- forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to upset you."

Sansa gave him a small smile. "There's nothing to forgive."

* * *

**That night...**

"What is the meaning of this ? Why was my daughter not brought to me at once?"

"How dare you speak to your King in that manner?"

"Quiet, woman." King Robert gave an exasperated sigh. "Sorry, Ned. I never meant to frighten the girl. But we need to get this business done quickly."

"That animal of your daughter's nearly tore my son's arm off," Queen Cersei said.

"That's not true!" Arya protested. "She just... bit him a little. He was hurting Mycah."

"Joff told us what happened," Cersei responded. "You couldn't control that beast of yours and it savaged him while he was walking with his betrothed."

"That's not what happened!" Arya shouted.

"It is!" Joffrey insisted. "We were walking by the riverbank and that filthy wolf attacked me without warning!"

"Liar!" Arya screamed.

"Alright, enough, both of you," Robert said. "He tells me one thing, she tells me another. Well, what am I to make of this? Where's your other daughter, Ned?"

"In bed asleep," Lord Stark answered.

"She's not," Cersei said. "Sansa, come here, darling." Sansa appeared from just outside of the room and walked up to stand near her sister and father.

"Now, child," Robert told Sansa, "Tell me what happened. Tell it all and tell it true. It's a great crime to lie to a King."

Sansa looked between the King and Queen and at Joffrey, who gave her an approving nod. Surely she must back up his words. They were to be married. She wouldn't want him angry at her...

She seemed to hesitate for a moment. "I- everything happened so fast- I mean- well it's true, though. Arya's wolf attacked Prince Joffrey while we were walking. Of course, I'm sure Arya didn't mean it to happen, but she wasn't paying attention, she was playing with the butcher's boy. He ran away as soon as he saw the Prince had been attacked."

So she wouldn't betray him even for her own blood's sake. Good. Joffrey gave her a grateful smile.

Arya, however, seemed enraged at this. She lunged at her sister, pulling her hair and screaming. "Liar! Liar, liar, liar!"

"Arya, get away from me!" Sansa yelled.

"Stop it!" Lord Stark ordered his younger daughter. "Stop, Arya, that's enough!" Finally he was able to pull the two girls away from each other.

"She's as wild as that animal of hers," Cersei remarked. She turned to Robert. "I want her punished."

"What would you have me do?" Robert asked. "Whip her through the streets? Accidents like this happen. It's over."

"Joffrey will bear these scars for the rest of his life," said Cersei.

Robert sighed. "It's not a bad thing for a man to bear scars." He turned to look at Joffrey. "Not that this will turn out to be any more than a scratch though. Alright, Ned, see to it that your daughter is disciplined."

"Gladly, your Grace," Lord Stark replied.

Just as everyone seemed to be making ready to leave, Cersei spoke again. "And what of the direwolf? What of the beast that savaged your son?"

A Stark soldier spoke up. "We found no trace of the direwolf, your Grace."

"So be it," said Robert.

"We have another wolf," Cersei said.

Robert hesitated for a moment. "As you will," he muttered and turned to walk out the room.

Lord Stark stopped him. "You can't mean it."

"A direwolf's no pet," Robert said. "Get her a dog. She'll be happier for it."

"He doesn't mean Lady, does he?" Sansa asked her father. "No no, not Lady! Lady didn't bite anyone! She's good!" she yelled in Cersei's direction.

"Lady wasn't there!" Arya added. "You leave her alone!"

"Stop them," Sansa begged her father. "Don't let them do it. Please! It wasn't Lady!"

Lord Stark looked from his daughters to King Robert. "Is this truly your command?... Your Grace?" he asked angrily.

Robert just stared at his old friend for a moment before continuing to walk away.

"Where is the beast?" Cersei asked.

"Wait, mother," Joffrey spoke up. "My lady's pet did me no harm. Lady Sansa should not be punished for her sister's carelessness. Besides, it seems that the beast that attacked me is gone anyway. That should serve as punishment for lady Arya."

Robert stopped just as he was about to exit the room. "Well, boy, it seems your grandfather was able to beat a bit of maturity into you." He looked at Cersei. "There you have it, then," he said simply and walked out.

Sansa immediately began to thank Joffrey excitedly, and Lord Stark also expressed his gratitude to the Prince, while Cersei gave a faint scowl but spoke on the subject no more.

Joffrey smiled magnanimously. He didn't care at all about Sansa's stupid wolf or whether it lived or died, but he liked the looks of admiration and approval he was getting from the rest of the room. And after all, it wouldn't do to make a family as important as the Starks dislike him. He would have need of them in the years to come.


	3. The Tournament of the Hand

**Note: As of August 14, 2019 I've edited this chapter to include the end of the tournament which I was going to include in the next chapter but it just fits better here. My apologies for this update not being an actual whole new chapter and thanks for all the great comments and reviews.**

* * *

King Robert was as surprised as anyone else when, soon after they had arrived back at King's Landing, Joffrey expressed the desire to sit in on his Small Council meetings. He and everyone else who'd known the boy years ago (his mysteriously absent uncle Stannis excluded) were even more surprised when Joffrey didn't simply stop showing up out of boredom after a single meeting, but insisted on showing up every time one was held. Never saying anything, just listening intently. Learning. Learning that the realm he was to inherit was six million gold dragons in debt, more than half of it owed to his grandfather. Learning that his father was cheerfully adding to that debt with the pointless spectacle of a tournament for the new Hand. And learning of creeping danger in the East. The last remnants of the Targaryen Dynasty were apparently raising an army of Dothraki savages to invade across the Narrow Sea. The immediate future looked bleak indeed.

And so the days passed as they always did, no matter if Westeros was on the cusp of a new golden age or if Joffrey was born to live in the sunset of the world. He mainly spent his free time practicing his swordplay with the Hound, or courting Sansa Stark. On most afternoons they could be seen walking hand in hand through the royal gardens, Sansa nothing but smiles and the carefree laughter of a girl whose dreams were all at once coming true.

And these days passed quickly. Very soon came the first day of the Tournament of the Hand. This in spite of Lord Stark's objections that the realm could not afford it. Joffrey would have to do something about that, he thought with an impending sense of dread that he cursed himself for feeling.

* * *

Sansa, by the first day of the tournament, had never been happier. Prince Joffrey was all she had ever wanted, and all she had ever imagined a Prince to be. Of course, the incident at the Trident had been unpleasant, but Joffrey had gotten quite drunk that day. He wasn't entirely himself, Sansa reasoned. And it was Arya's fault above all else. Her wolf could have killed Joffrey! And he'd only given the butcher's boy a scratch. Well anyway, thanks to her gallant Prince, it had all had a happy ending. Just like in the songs and in the old stories.

True, Joffrey had been distant in the days after the incident, but one evening, soon after arriving at King's Landing, he had taken Sansa to the gardens for the first time. The moon and stars alone lit their way as they travelled their verdant path. They walked in silence for quite some time until Joffrey finally spoke. "My lady, I do feel I must apologize once more for the unpleasant business on the Kingsroad. I was never going to hurt your sister, you know."

Sansa smiled at Joffrey. "I know that, my Prince. I've told you, there's nothing to forgive."

Joffrey continued walking silently for a few moments. "You don't have to call me that, you know," he said suddenly. "We are to be married, I mean. You may call me by my name."

Sansa blushed. "And you by mine, my- _Joffrey_."

"We'll be married very soon, I think," Joffrey said. "And one day I'll be King and you'll be Queen and Lords and Ladies will come from all over the Seven Kingdoms, from the Last Hearth in the North to the Salt Shore in the South, just to pay their respects to us... And then one day they'll come to give their blessings to the new heir to the throne. Our creation."

Sansa's heart was filled with an overwhelming elation at his words. She embraced his arm in hers and leaned her head onto Joffrey's shoulder. For a few moments she felt a sense of bliss and wellbeing that she had never known before. This turned to horror when she thought about how inappropriate what she was doing was. What would her Septa say? Blushing furiously, she separated herself from the Prince and began to stammer an apology.

"I- I'm so sorry, my- I mean-"

Joffrey smiled. "There is nothing to forgive." And he put his lips to hers and they kissed under the pale light of the moon.

* * *

The sky was a perfect, cloudless blue on the day that the Tournament of the Hand was to begin. Joffrey's mother had thrown a fit when he had made good on his promise to himself, that he would do something to counteract his father's foolishness. The only thing he could do in this situation was to win the prize of forty thousand gold dragons that went to the winner of the joust. That way at least the biggest part of the money his father was squandering would remain in the Royal Family. Of course there was also the melee and the archery contest, but Joffrey wasn't going to push his luck.

In all honesty, the prospect of entering the joust with all the greatest champions of Westeros was one that terrified Joffrey. Not that he didn't have experience himself; he could swear sometimes that his grandfather was trying to make him into the second coming of his uncle Jaime.

Well, today the realm would see if his training had payed off. His father at least had seemed amused at the whole situation. Perhaps he wouldn't even care if Joffrey was injured or killed. Gods, less than a month after returning to King's Landing and he already wished everyone in the city had a single neck he could sever.

* * *

The splendor and spectacle of the tournament nearly took Sansa's breath away. For three days it would go on. Knights had come from all over the realm to joust and feast in her father's honor and it seemed that all the city had come to watch. Along the river there was a field of pavilions, each with a Knight's shield hung before their door, and banners of many great Houses flew in the wind. The jousting began to the roar of trumpets, and the sound of pounding hooves was accompanied by the shouts of the crowd. On their great steeds rode the noble Knights of the Seven Kingdoms, their steel armor of silver and gold shining in the sunlight. It all seemed magical to Sansa. Once again, she felt transported into one of the old songs.

And then Sansa heard his name called and her heart stopped cold.

"Come forth, Prince Joffrey of House Baratheon and Lord Renly of House Baratheon!"

But… what? Sansa hadn't seen Joffrey with his parents in the royal box, but she _had_ noticed during the past few days that he would, well, disappear at times...

The Prince and his uncle met each other in front of the royal box. Sansa, still in shock, looked to the King and Queen. Queen Cersei couldn't keep the worry off her face, while the King just stared forward with some interest. The two combatants bowed, and King Robert gave a lazy wave of his hand, signaling for the first tilt to begin. Sansa squeezed her father's hand as she watched in silent trepidation.

* * *

Joffrey was clad in full plate armor of Lannister red and gold and he was mounted on a black horse with striking blue eyes. He rode back to his own area and found his new squire waiting with lance and shield. Willem Lannister was his cousin, or – technically speaking – he was his mother's cousin. Anyway, the sullen faced boy was the same age as Joffrey and he had been quite eager to serve as his squire. Surprisingly so, Joffrey thought.

Lance and shield in hand, Joffrey closed his helmet and spurred his mount onwards, lowering the lance he held in his right hand as his horse gained speed. Like lightning, he slammed the lance into Renly, who looked quite surprised and just barely managed to stay on his horse. The cheers of the crowd were deafening.

From the opposite sides of the jousting ground, Joffrey and his uncle charged at each other again, Renly's lance aiming for Joffrey's chest. There was a brutal crash. Joffrey's lance had broken and he had the breath knocked out of him, but he managed to remain on horseback. "Willem, lance!" he gasped out.

The third tilt began. Joffrey scowled and rode forward again. He intercepted the blow Renly tried to deal him with his shield this time and with his own lance he managed to knock his uncle off his horse. Renly slammed onto the ground and tumbled through the dirt where he lay groaning. Joffrey grinned at how painful it looked.

The crowd went wild and Joffrey's grin grew as he waved to them from his horse. Because of the time taken by the archery contest held earlier, Renly had been Joffrey's only opponent for the day. He dismounted from his horse and looked to where his parents and the Starks were sitting. He noticed Sansa seated near Lord Stark and Lord Baelish who was whispering something in her ear.

Joffrey felt a stab of anger and he didn't even really realize why. All he knew was that he didn't like Baelish's smug smile and would have liked nothing more than to cut the man's throat. His good mood rapidly evaporated. Today's challenge would be nothing compared to tomorrow's and Joffrey didn't think he had the patience to deal with another human being at the moment. He rode back wordlessly to the Red Keep, the cheers of the crowd following him as he left.

The night was filled with feasting and songs, but Joffrey did not join in the festivities.

* * *

During the joust the next day, Joffrey managed to unseat both a member of Lord Stark's household guard, a man named Harwin, and a member of House Frey whose name he didn't recall. The cheers grew louder each time as the mob covered him in glory. His next opponent, though, wouldn't grant him such an easy victory, that was for sure. Ser Loras Tyrell, or the Knight of the Flowers as he was known, was one of the most skilled jousters in all the Kingdoms and he was greatly loved by the smallfolk.

Ser Loras basked in the crowd's adulation. He sauntered around on his brown horse, waving to the people and winking at maidens. Eventually he stopped in front of Sansa, smiling at her and handing her a rose, the symbol of house Tyrell, Lords of Highgarden in the Reach, the heart of Westerosi chivalry.

Joffrey scowled at him, Sansa was to be _his _Queen, but Loras just smirked in return.

The trumpets blared, Joffrey closed his visor, and the joust began. Joffrey and Loras both brought their lances down as their horses charged forward. The two riders clashed and Joffrey felt a blinding pain as he somehow managed to stay on his horse. He'd barely grazed Loras's shoulder.

Joffrey got a new lance from Willem and the second tilt began. He and Loras galloped towards each other at breakneck speed. Joffrey aimed his lance at Loras's breastplate, but Loras used his shield to both block the blow and knock his lance out of his hand. Joffrey didn't even have time to react before Loras hit him with a swift blow of his own lance and knocked him right off of his horse.

The pain was intense and Joffrey had to bite back a scream. He lay in the dirt, breathing heavily. He could hear the crowd's cheers but this time they were not for him. After a few moments he struggled to get up. "Willem, take my horse to the stables."

"Yes, my Prince."

Joffrey walked to the front of the royal box and bowed to his father. He could see Sansa looking at him, her face pale with worry. As Joffrey turned to walk glumly away, his father called to him. "That was a fine show you put on, boy! I'm proud of you."

Joffrey stopped for a moment and then continued to walk away from the jousting grounds.


	4. Joffrey Ascendant

**Note: For those who didn't see, I edited the last chapter to include the end of the tournament. I had originally planned for it to open this chapter, but it fits better there.**

**Update: March 16 2020: ****Well, I know it's been a while, but I suddenly have a lot ****more free time so I decided to start working on this story again. I've added to this chapter and am in the process of planning the next few.**

* * *

Joffrey had not even come to watch the last day of the joust. He'd heard that Loras Tyrell had won first prize. He hated the Flower Knight's... well he hated his manner in general, but at least if Joffrey couldn't beat him then no one else could either. There was less shame in losing to the best, he supposed.

He'd been avoiding Sansa lately. He didn't really want to have to deal with her at the moment, but she'd managed to ambush him one day in the Red Keep. She'd immediately hugged him and told him how worried she'd been when she saw him jousting and why hadn't he told her he was going to do that and was he okay?! He'd forced a grin and assured her that he was fine, but he had important business to attend to at the moment and would see her again very soon.

Meanwhile, the return of his uncle imp from the Wall was annoying, but there were more ominous troubles at home and abroad. The Targaryen whore was pregnant with the horse-lord savage's heir. Joffrey agreed with his father and most of the rest of the council that the only sensible thing to do was to kill her, but Lord Stark saw things differently. He said it would be dishonorable to kill the girl and that doing so would make them no better than the Mad King. The argument escalated to the point where Stark resigned from his position as King's Hand right then and there, and walked out calmly as the King hurled curses and threats at him.

Joffrey hadn't seen his father as angry as he was in a very long time. Not that he'd had much of an opportunity to in the last years, but still... Of course, as was characteristic of his father, his rage did not last long. By the end of the day he had forced the Hand's badge back on his old friend. ("And if you ever take it off again, I swear to the Mother I'll pin the damned thing on Jaime Lannister!") Yet the Targaryen problem and the threat of Dothraki invasion remained.

For all his father's rants about Lord Stark wanting only to run back North and bury his head in the snow, he wasn't really taking any decisive action himself that Joffrey could see. Yes, the girl would die, he'd been saying that for over a month, but the bitch and her fool of a brother were still alive and well, and the King was now going on a hunting trip, seemingly without a care in the world. Things would be different once Joffrey took over.

* * *

Sansa heard a knock at the door to her room in the Red Keep. Opening it, she saw her Prince staring back at her, a smile on his face. But he looked quite pale and there were bags under his eyes which made her worry. "Prince Joffrey," she said and curtseyed to him.

Joffrey bowed in return. "May I come in?" he asked.

"Of course!" Sansa replied a little too eagerly.

"I brought you a present." Joffrey held up a golden necklace. "With your permission?"

Sansa smiled and nodded. She turned around and lifted her hair out of the way so Joffrey could put it around her neck. Once he'd done so, she examined the heart shaped pendant. "It's beautiful, like the one your mother wears."

"You'll be Queen someday. It's only fitting you should look the part." There was silence for a moment before Joffrey spoke again. "I- I have been distant these past days. For that, I ask your forgiveness. For what the years to come will bring, I say take courage."

Sansa frowned. "What... do you mean my Prince?"

Joffrey made another attempt at a grin. "Only... Only that I now have some first hand knowledge of how the realm is governed. It is not an easy task to be a King."

She knew he'd been attending the King's small council meetings along with her father. Was that what was bothering him? Her poor Prince was worried he wouldn't live up to the expectations of the people and the realm? He had such a noble heart... She kissed him on the cheek. "You'll be the greatest King there ever was, Joffrey. A Golden Lion."

Joffrey gave her a truly grateful smile. Her words held no real meaning; she hadn't any idea of the state of the Kingdoms or the scope of Joffrey's plans or the encroaching threats from foreign lands. But the words were spoken with absolute sincerity and confidence, confidence in _him _and what he could achieve, and that made all the difference.

* * *

_The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children_. A dull read indeed, but Ned continued to scan its pages. _Lord Orys Baratheon, black of hair. Axel Baratheon, black of hair. Lyonel Baratheon, black of hair. Steffon Baratheon, black of hair. Robert Baratheon, black of hair. Joffrey Baratheon... Golden-haired._ But... that didn't necessarily mean anything, did it? After all, most of his own children took after his wife in features.

_The seed is strong. _Jon Arryn's last words according to Pycelle. They could have any number of meanings or they could mean nothing at all, the last incoherent ramblings of a dying man. Lord Varys suspected that Jon Arryn was poisoned and his widow Lysa had put the blame for his death on the Lannisters in her letter to Catelyn. The type of poison supposedly used left no trace and perhaps the words of a freshly widowed woman consumed with grief were not the most reliable, but some things did add up. Bran had always been sure-footed before. Perhaps he hadn't fallen. Perhaps he had seen something he wasn't meant to and was pushed off the tower in the hope that it would silence him forever. And Lord Arryn had been interested in the book and had been making visits to Robert's known bastard offspring, all black of hair. _The seed is strong..._

But none of this was was enough for Ned to be sure his suspicions were accurate. There was no real proof that Lord Arryn had been murdered. If he had, and Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella were really not Robert's children, and possibly the result of incest, then it seemed obvious that the Lannisters would benefit the most from his death if they'd found out he had known the truth. But even if that was the case there could be more going on under the surface. It was Stannis who most benefitted from Joffrey being removed from the succession, and he had fled to Dragonstone almost immediately after Jon Arryn's death. If he had been led to believe that Joffrey and his siblings were illegitimate... More unwelcome possibilities entered Ned's mind, and he felt his head begin to ache.

As for Joffrey himself though. He was... hard to gauge. If Arya was to be believed, he was a monster who would have killed both her and her friend had her direwolf not attacked him. The butcher's boy was questioned about the events of that day later on and denied that he had even been there when the incident had occurred, therefore apparently implicating nobody in anything. But the cut on his cheek was there as Arya had described. He claimed he had gotten it in a fight with his older brother. Ned had strong reason to suspect Arya was indeed telling the truth, but without any definite evidence, and because no serious consequences had come from the incident, he had put it out of his mind.

Apart from that day at the Trident, Joffrey's behavior – from what Ned had seen – had been exemplary. He had intervened when his mother wanted Lady killed and been great with Sansa afterwards. Ned smiled when he thought of how happy his eldest daughter had been over these past few weeks. He knew it would devastate her if he made the accusation that Joffrey was not the rightful heir to the throne. If it were shown that he was right and Joffrey was removed from the line of succession, he had the feeling Sansa would never forgive him.

Joffrey had also sat in on all the small council meetings of his own volition, displaying a mature mind. No doubt one his grandfather had been instrumental in molding from what he had heard of the boy when he was younger. Personally, Ned would sooner entrust a child to a pit viper than to Lord Tywin, but apparently there were benefits to being raised by the old Lion.

Ned sighed and closed the book. For now, he thought it best not to act on his suspicions. Not unless he obtained incontrovertible proof that they were correct... And he dreaded that prospect. It would almost certainly lead to Westeros tearing itself apart in Civil War. Joffrey was innocent in any case. He had no control over who his parents were and Ned didn't want to see him or his siblings harmed, possibly even executed. Besides, if his suspicions were in fact wrong, which they very well could be, or disregarded due to lack of hard evidence and made to seem wrong in the eyes of the realm… Well, he could be branded a traitor and the consequences of that would be dire for his whole family.

* * *

"Ned!" Renly called to him frantically. "It's Robert. We were hunting... a boar…" He motioned for him to follow and Ned hurried after him, along with Ser Barristan.

Entering the King's chambers, Ned saw Robert, his face pale and sweaty, lying down on what was no doubt his deathbed. Prince Joffrey was standing over his... father, his expression hard to read. Robert was talking to the boy quietly as Grand Maester Pycelle and Cersei watched from a corner of the room.

"-And I was never meant to be a father," Robert told Joffrey sadly. "But you grew. You'll make- a better King than I ever did. He laughed softly. "Not saying much, I know." He noticed Ned had arrived. "Go on," he implored Joffrey. He glanced at the bandages covering his wound. "You don't want to see this."

Joffrey looked down at Robert for a moment. "Goodbye, father," he said finally and walked out of the room.

A few minutes later Robert also sent everyone but Ned outside.

"Paper and ink on the table, Ned. Write down what I say…"

* * *

Joffrey walked the halls of the Red Keep in a daze. He couldn't honestly say he had loved his father, but he hadn't expected this. Not yet. His father, the great warrior-king, Demon of the Trident. Killed by a pig.

King Robert, first of his name. Joffrey knew he'd never really wanted to be King. He'd complained about it often enough. Well, his era of feasts and whoring and debt and decay was over. When the Maesters began their story of Joffrey's reign, they would say that their histories were rising from a kingdom of iron and rust to a thousand year kingdom of gold.

And there was much to be done.

* * *

"What do you mean he's left the city? When? Why?"

"He took his leave through a postern gate an hour before dawn, accompanied by Ser Loras Tyrell and some fifty retainers, Your Grace," Varys answered with a sorrowful look. "When last seen, they were galloping south in some haste, no doubt bound for Storm's End or Highgarden. As to the reasons for his flight, regretfully, my little birds are silent."

Joffrey sighed and spoke to the room at large. "Tell Lord Renly to ride back immediately or be declared an enemy of the the Crown."

"Ah- Your Grace, perhaps it would be wiser to tread lightly in this matter," Varys began. "After all-"

"No." Joffrey interrupted bluntly. "I will not have my orders questioned. Now then," he said as he stood from the Iron Throne, "I command my council to make all the necessary arrangements for my coronation. I wish to be crowned within the fortnight. Today I shall accept oaths of fealty from my loyal councilors."

At this, Ned wordlessly drew out a sealed letter. "Ser Barristan, I believe nobody here could ever question your honor." He handed the letter to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

The old Knight examined the letter. "King Robert's seal and unbroken," he announced. He opened the letter and read. "Lord Eddard Stark is herein named Protector of the Realm, to rule as regent until the heir comes of age."

A flash of anger momentarily passed over Joffrey's face before it relaxed into a neutral expression.

"May I see that letter, Ser Barristan?" Cersei asked. He handed it to her and she read it over briefly. "Is this meant to be your shield, Lord Stark? A piece of paper? She ripped the letter in half, ripped the halves in quarters, and let the pieces flutter to the floor.

"Those were the King's words," Sir Barristan said, shocked.

"And sensible words they were," Joffrey said. "But what my father and Lord Stark both seem to have forgotten is that I am of age and therefore have no need of a regent. I am King now. There are no limits to my power and I can do anything to anybody. I am the arbiter of life and death for all the kingdoms. I could have you killed where you stand Lord Stark, for attempting to usurp my power, but I am merciful. You may bend the knee to me. Then I shall allow you to step down as Hand and live out the remainder of your life in the grey wastes of the North."

Ned inwardly sighed. It was looking more and more likely that Arya was right about Joffrey. His words were not those of a true King. They had shown that whatever the truth of his parentage, he was not suited to rule, at least not at this young age. What was to be done? If he and his mother had respected the King's last wishes, he could have given him the benefit of the doubt and helped Joffrey. Guided him towards the right path. But there was no chance of that now. Robert had said to him once that he would have abdicated, if not for the thought of Joffrey on the throne and his mother constantly whispering in his ear. There was no question now, Stannis would make a better ruler for the Kingdoms than the Lannisters and their boy king puppet. For the time being though and for the safety of his daughters, he had no choice but to appease Joffrey. He bent the knee.


	5. Under the Shadow of Tainted Blood

**Thank you to everybody who commented, it really is greatly ****appreciated.**

**When writing these early chapters, I try to avoid detailing events from canon as much as possible, except in the case where it's necessary to move the plot forward and/or when they were subtly (or not so subtly) altered by the divergences already present. Naturally the story will eventually diverge completely from canon but as for this chapter in particular, it may read as if there are some missing pieces. Some of these can be filled in by canon events while others will be pieced together in time.**

* * *

And in less than two weeks, Joffrey was crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms. Of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. But in reality things had gone from bad to worse and events had seemed to spiral out of control. Reflecting on his position, Joffrey noted to himself that of all the lands in Westeros, he was undisputed ruler in the Crownlands, where he obviously had his capital, the Riverlands where lady Sansa's grandfather, Hoster Tully was Lord of Riverrun, the Vale, where lady Sansa's family were likewise lords, her aunt Lysa governing as regent for Jon Arryn's young son, Robert Arryn, and finally the Westerlands where his grandfather, Lord Tywin, would be riding from in due time to serve as Hand of the King.

The rest of the continent was a different story. The North was mostly under his control, and Eddard Stark would be returning to Winterfell soon enough. However, it seemed that Balon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands, had been inspired by the example set by his traitor Baratheon uncles. He had declared the independence of the Islands on Joffrey's accession, perhaps thinking that the King was a mere boy with no strong support, who couldn't defeat him at sea and who anyway would soon be busy fighting both Stannis and Renly.

And oh, his traitor uncles... It was no surprise his father had never liked them. He really should have had them both killed long ago as far as Joffrey was concerned.

Renly had fled with Loras Tyrell to Highgarden, where, ignoring Joffrey's generous offer to come back and swear fealty in return for his useless life, he had quickly married Margaery Tyrell, daughter of Lord Mace Tyrell, and was crowned King in a matter of days. Now he had the might of both the Reach and the Stormlands behind him. However, Joffrey had heard tell of a great tourney to celebrate the occasion and last he'd heard, the flowered lords in Highgarden celebrated still.

Meanwhile, Stannis had ignored a summons back to King's Landing and remained on Dragonstone, where according to Varys, he was busy building ships and hiring sellswords. Joffrey expected him to declare himself the one _true_ King any day now. A laughable prospect. He had no legal claim to the throne and unlike Renly, Joffrey couldn't see anyone following him willingly. His uncle Stannis had been called the gloomiest of men. Still, if he made the mistake of declaring himself King, it would bring him and Renly into conflict as well. Maybe if Joffrey got lucky, his uncles would end up killing each other.

Further south, the strange and sunlit land of Dorne was still nominally under Joffrey's control, but as the peace of the world seemed to fall apart, Prince Doran Martell had begun to mobilize forces at his kingdom's northern borders. Ostensibly this was in support of the Crown; to protect against invasion from Renly or Stannis, but Joffrey knew of the hatred the Martells had for him and his family. He suspected that one day he would be forced to complete the work of Daeron Targaryen and bring the Dornish to heel for good.

And finally, in the not-so-distant East, In those lands full of promises of glory and of mystery and treachery, Joffrey and his councillors had lost track of Daenerys Targaryen. The last anyone had heard was that her brother, Viserys, was dead. Good enough news, Joffrey supposed, but the whore and the horse-lord were apparently still on the march.

War was on the horizon again, and for the past week and a half, the mood around the Red Keep had been growing steadily more foreboding. Even Tommen and Myrcella were beginning to notice the... sense of impending doom.

Joffrey realized that he'd hardly said a word to his siblings since they'd returned from Winterfell. There were simply much more important matters to attend to. Still, his grandfather had lectured him more than once about how useful siblings could be, his own brother Kevan amply proving that point, and so Joffrey resolved to break his fast with them that morning.

* * *

Sansa was awoken that morning by a knock on her door. "Sansa?" It was her Septa calling. "Sansa, wake up now please and get dressed quickly. Your lord father would speak to you and your sister."

Sansa groaned sleepily. She'd been having such wonderful dreams too. Was this about the fight she'd had with Arya at supper last night? It was Arya that had thrown the orange at her and ruined her beautiful ivory silk dress. _She_ hadn't done anything wrong, and she hoped she wasn't going to be punished.

She sat up in bed and yawned. "Good morning, Lady."

Her direwolf regarded her lazily with half-closed golden eyes. Sansa pet her affectionately.

As soon as she was dressed she left her room and Septa Mordane marched her to the solar where her father and Arya were already seated at the breakfast table.

"My thanks, Septa Mordane," Her father said as they entered the room. "I would talk to my daughters alone, if you would be so kind."

The Septa bowed and left.

"Come here, Sansa," Her father said, not unkindly. "Sit beside me."

"Arya started it, father" Sansa said quickly, anxious to have the first word. "She spoiled my dress and-"

"_Enough_, Sansa." Her father's voice was sharp with impatience. "The Gods know I'm sick of you two constantly at each other's throats, but that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. I'm sending you both back to Winterfell."

Sansa found herself too stunned for words.

"But you can't!" Arya shouted. "What about my lessons with Syrio?"

"Please, father," Sansa managed at last. "Please don't."

Her father gave a tired smile to his two daughters. "At last we've found something you both agree on."

"I didn't do anything wrong," Sansa pleaded with him. "I don't want to go back." She loved King's Landing; the pageantry of the court, the high lords and ladies in their velvets and silks and gemstones, the great city with all the people. She had been having the most magical time of her whole life here, and there was yet so much she hadn't seen. "Father, I swear it. I'll be good, you'll see, just let me stay and I promise to be as good and noble and courteous as the queen."

Her father regarded her oddly for a moment. "Sansa, this isn't a punishment. I'm sending you back to Winterfell for your own safety. You two don't see it, but King's Landing becomes more dangerous by the day."

Sansa didn't know what her father was talking about. Lord Renly? But he was all the way in Highgarden...

"Can we take Syrio back with us at least?" Arya asked.

"Perhaps, if he agrees to enter my service."

Arya smiled. It seemed that took away her only objection to leaving.

"Who cares about your _dancing master," _Sansa flared. "Father, I can't leave, I'm to marry King Joffrey. "I love him father, I really truly do. As much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. I want to be his queen and to give him sons with beautiful golden hair. We'll be ever so happy, father, you'll see. It will be just like in the songs!"

"Sansa," her father said gently, "Listen to me. When you're older, I'll make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you. Someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffrey was a mistake, you must believe me. That boy is no Prince Aemon."

"He _is_, father! He-"

"I won't discuss this further." He called for Septa Mordane. "A ship has arrived to take you both out of the capital at midday. I'd already contracted it a week ago. Get ready to go, but don't take too long. You will sail with Septa Mordane and a compliment of guards. Say nothing of this to anyone."

Sansa cried as Septa Mordane marched them back to pack their things. It wasn't fair. Her life was over before it had even begun.

* * *

It was Joffrey's habit to eat alone in his chambers most days, but this morning he'd sent the Hound to collect his brother and sister to join him. Fifteen minutes after giving the order, they were entering his rooms.

"Here they are, Your Grace," his dog muttered as he walked away, shutting the door behind him at which he would stand guard.

Tommen and Myrcella kept glancing at each other as they took their places at the small table where Joffrey was already seated, worry plainly etched on their faces.

There was awkward silence for a few minutes as the three siblings picked at their food. Finally, Joffrey broke the silence, "You two seemed excited enough when I came back from grandfather's. In fact, I could hardly get you to shut up. Now you have nothing to say to me at all?"

"You promised you'd spend a lot of time with us from then on, but you didn't," Myrcella pouted. "We hardly ever get to even see you, Joff."

"You said you'd teach me how to fight with a sword," Tommen whined.

"There is much a King is forced to do," Joffrey said solemnly.

Myrcella rolled her eyes. "You weren't a King last month when you didn't show up for the ball mother helped me throw. You said you'd be there. Sansa was."

Joffrey had entirely forgotten about that. He reflected for a moment. "What do you think of Lady Sansa?"

"Don't change the subject, Joff."

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you. To both of you. One day soon we'll spend a whole day together. We can do whatever you want."

Myrcella continued to pout. "Father used to say the same thing you know. _One day _never came."

"Is there going to be a war?" Tommen interjected bluntly.

Joffrey and Myrcella stared at him for a moment and then Myrcella looked back at Joffrey expectantly. "Don't worry about that," Joffrey said. I have everything under control. If there's fighting, it won't reach King's Landing."

"Are... you going to kill uncle Renly?" Tommen asked.

"I expect so," Joffrey answered brightly. "Treason should never go unpunished."

Tommen and Myrcella's faces paled.

Joffrey sighed. This little talk wasn't going the way he'd planned. "Listen I-"

He was interrupted by a loud banging on the door.

Joffrey scowled as the Hound called to him in his gruff voice. "Lord Varys here to see you, your Grace. Says it's urgent."

Joffrey looked to his siblings apologetically…

An emergency session of the Small Council was called immediately to deal with the disturbing new pieces of information Joffrey and his councillors had received.

* * *

"You have no claim to the throne," Lord Stark said defiantly.

Joffrey stared down at him in fury. "To speak to me like that… No, I hold the power here. Your tongue is sharp my lord, but you should be careful how you waggle it or one day it will end up cutting off your head. Though, perhaps my advice comes to you too late. Ser Barristan, seize this traitor!"

The old Knight hesitated for an instant, and in that short time he was surrounded by Stark guardsmen.

"Do you think he stands alone, Lord Stark?!" Joffrey shouted. The Hound drew his longsword. The knights of the Kingsguard and twenty crimson-cloaked Lannister guardsmen moved to support him.

"Leave Lord Stark alive for now but kill the rest of them!" Joffrey screamed down from his throne.

"You leave me no choice," Lord Stark said. He called out to Janos Slynt. "Commander, take Joffrey and his mother into custody. Do them no harm, but escort them back to the royal apartments and keep them there, under guard."

Joffrey smirked.

"Men of the watch!" Janos Slynt shouted, donning his helm. A hundred gold cloaks leveled their spears and closed.

"No blood need be spilled here today," Lord Stark said. "Tell your men to lay down their swords and-"

With a single sharp thrust, the nearest gold cloak drove his spear into the the back of the commander of Lord Stark's household guard. The man he had apparently entrusted with a letter to Stannis.

As Stark's men died around him, Lord Baelish shoved a dagger up under his chin with a smile. "I _did _warn you not to trust me, you know."

* * *

It had been three days since she'd been locked up here. Alone. Even within the stout walls of Maegor's Holdfast, Sansa had heard the killing. The clash of sword on sword and the screams of men. The moans of the dying. They chilled her to the bone. She had no idea what was going on out there. If she could only talk to her father or the Queen, or _anyone._ But the only human contact she'd had in the past few days had been guards wordlessly bringing food to her door. She'd hardly eaten. Sometimes she'd shout to the guards, asking them to tell her what was happening, calling for Joffrey, or the Queen, or her father, but she never got a response.

It was on the morning of the third day that she had been led by a member of the Kingsguard into the small council chambers for an audience with the Queen...

* * *

Joffrey walked the halls of Maegor's Holdfast, book in hand, until he reached the main chambers, now guarded by Ser Barristan. His mother had foolishly tried to dismiss the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard from his position soon after he was crowned King, with the excuses that he was too old and hadn't done enough to protect his father. Joffrey had realized of course that her real reason for wanting him gone was so that uncle Jaime could take his place, which included a seat on the Small Council. He had annoyed his mother greatly by quickly putting an end to her scheme, and assuring Ser Barristan that as long as he could fight and kill the enemies of the Crown, his position was secure.

"Your Grace." Ser Barristan nodded to him as Joffrey pushed open the door to the chambers. He glanced at the only closed doors in the room.

"Which are Lady Sansa's chambers?" Joffrey asked.

"To the right, your Grace."

Joffrey walked to the door and knocked firmly. He heard a shout from the other side.

"Go away!"

Joffrey tried turning the handle but the door was locked.

"Sansa, it's me, open the door."

He could hear a cry of surprise and then fumbling at the door until it opened to reveal Sansa, her face red and tear-stained and her hair a mess.

"Y-your Grace," she said with a sniffle.

Joffrey just stared at her.

"Your Grace- Joffrey, m-my King, I knew nothing of what my father was planning, I swear to you, you have to believe me! Everything happened so fast, This morning he just told us to pack our things because we'd be leaving on a ship today, but I didn't want to go, I didn't want-"

"Be quiet Sansa."

She stopped talking but burst back into tears.

"Your father is in the Black Cells," Joffrey announced as he closed the door to her room.

Sansa only started to cry harder as she fell back onto her bed

"A-a-are you g-going to kill him?" She finally managed to ask, fighting back the tears.

Joffrey thought for a second as he put the book down on a table. "That remains to be seen."

Sansa looked up at him with pleading eyes.

"There has to be some mistake your Grace, my father loved King Robert as a brother! He would never- Lord Renly or-or Lord Stannis, someone must have filled his head with lies-"

"Yes well, he's called for Stannis to come here and take my throne!" Joffrey interrupted. "He _asked_ him to do so, and what do you think happens to me if Stannis is successful? He'll kill _me_, that's what will happen!"

Sansa was crying harder than ever.

"And do you know why?!" Joffrey asked.

"I don't know anything your Grace. Please believe me! Please…"

Joffrey forcefully picked up the book, opened it, and shoved it at her. "There. Read."

Sansa scanned the page Joffrey had opened to. "Y-your family? What does this?…"

"Supposedly all Baratheons as far back as history records have had black hair. All except me and my siblings. _That _is why your father moves against me."

Sansa looked up at him, not comprehending his meaning for a few moments. Then understanding dawned terribly on her face.

"That's right, your traitor father thinks I'm not my father's son and that I'm not the King. Only because, like you, I've inherited my mother's hair color. I won't allow him to take my crown from me though. I won't ever allow it!"

"Please, your Grace," Sansa begged in desperation. "I- I know he must be punished, but all I ask for is mercy. If you have any affection left in your heart for me… P-please do me this kindness."

Joffrey regarded her for a moment "Why do you think I came here Sansa?"

"I- don't know your Grace."

He sighed. "I believe I've said it before. You are to be my Queen and should call me by my name.

Sansa's eyes widened. "W-what? You mean...?"

"Oh, yes, we're still to be married. You don't object to that do you?"

"No! It's all I've ever wanted. I- don't see how we could be a- anything but happy together."

Joffrey sat down next to her on the bed. "You must believe that I'm sorry this whole awful situation has come to pass, my Lady. I never want you to be anything but completely happy."

Sansa looked at him with hope in her eyes.

"I don't want to kill your father, Sansa. But he must confess his treason. He must say that he was mistaken and that I'm the rightful King. If he does not, I can show no mercy for him."

Sansa looked intently into his eyes. "He will. Oh, I know he will."

"And when he does... I shall grant him a full royal pardon and allow him to continue to serve me as Warden of the North until the end of his days."

At this, Sansa was overcome by emotion. She threw herself at him and hugged him tightly. "Oh, thank you, _thank_ _you_, Joffrey!" She was crying again, but this time they were tears of joy. "I love you and I'll always love you, and I'll always stand by your side. You'll never regret this, I promise!"

Joffrey smirked inwardly. This had worked out exactly as he'd planned. Now to pay a visit to Lord Stark...


	6. Some Justice

Joffrey swung Lord Stark's cell door open. The torch he was waving in the darkness caused Stark to shield his eyes in pain for a few moments and then he looked up at Joffrey with a stone-faced expression. Finally he spoke in a weak voice.

"My daughters... Are they...?"

Joffrey grinned. "Oh, don't worry about that, Lord Stark. They're quite comfortably confined. I have no intention of harming them. Not even the little savage one... Not at the moment anyway."

Stark glared at him. "If you hurt them, I swear before gods and men-"

"Yes, yes," Joffrey waved his hand impatiently. "Hopefully I shall have no cause to do so, though that depends to a large extent on how well you can cooperate with me."

"What of my household guard?"

Joffrey's grin grew bigger "All dead. Your Septa's head is on a spike as well."

Lord Stark put his head in his hands. "It was a mistake to come here."

"Your son marches south with an army you know."

Lord Stark raised his head. "What? Robb?! He's only a boy..."

Joffrey rolled his eyes. "No, the cripple," he laughed. Lord Stark scowled at him but Joffrey continued to smile. "Anyway, yes, my mother had Lady Sansa write a letter to him, calmly explaining what was really going on, but apparently that had the opposite of it's intended effect. You'll be confessing to your treason publicly though, and since I'm not going to kill you, your son will have no choice but to lay down his sword and march back north."

"Do you think my life is so precious to me?"

Joffrey shrugged. "In case you're thinking that'd you'd rather die than confess, don't forget that I have your daughters, my lord."

Stark fixed him with a look of pure hatred.

"Oh! I almost forgot," Joffrey said gleefully. He pulled out the page he had torn from the book and handed it to Lord Stark.

He read. _Princess_ _Rhaenys_ _Targaryen, Daughter of Prince Aemon Targaryen and Lady Jocelyn Baratheon. Silver-gold of hair._

"Yes, hair even lighter than mine from the daughter of a true-born Baratheon. Perhaps a rare occurrence, but far from impossible. Can you hear the gods laughing, Lord Stark? You risked all, including the lives of your family for nothing! Well, not all is lost for you. You should be thankful that I'm not Stannis. I'm pardoning you and sending you back to Winterfell," Joffrey said with a dismissive gesture of his hand. Stark seemed suitably taken aback by that.

"Once there, I suppose you'll have some trouble with Balon Greyjoy," Joffrey continued, "but I'd say you'll end up coming out of this situation very well considering what I could do to you. I believe I've removed any obstacles towards gaining your loyalty now?"

Stark stared at him for a long moment "If I'm to bend the knee to you... Your betrothal to Sansa is over. Both of my daughters will come back with me to Winterfell."

"No. Lady Sansa will remain in King's Landing, and our marriage will go on as planned. How else can I ensure the continued loyalty of your family?"

Lord Stark seemed to age a decade in that instant and his eyes lost the hardness they'd had but a moment before. "Joffrey… please... You have my word that I will name myself traitor in front of the whole realm if need be, whether true or not, but leave my daughter out of your scheming."

Joffrey was no longer smiling. "You still don't seem to understand," he said. "Not only are you in no position to be making demands or requests of any kind, but I _want_ her as my queen. She is... ideal for the position. One person in this rotten city I believe I can trust as far as I can trust another person. I won't- well I mean to say that I think she'll be quite happy here." _Still_, he thought, _I wonder_ _what_ _she'd_ _do_ _if_ _I_ _just_ _chopped_ _her_ _father's_ _head_ _off_ _and_ _told_ _her_ _that_ _was_ _justice?_

Stark looked like he was about to say something more, but then seemed to have thought better of it and closed his mouth. No, Joffrey's words hadn't mollified him, but...

"Well then Lord Stark," Joffrey continued, suddenly feeling a strong desire to flee these dungeons, "I'll leave you until tomorrow to consider all that I've said."

* * *

The herald's voice boomed out across the throne room. "If anyone in this hall has other matters to set before His Grace, let them speak now or go forth and hold their silence."

Sansa walked forward, Lords and Knights stepping aside as she passed. As was usual since the Queen had given her freedom of the castle for good behavior, they looked at her as if she had the grey plague. And it _hurt_, because she didn't know what _she'd_ done to inspire such revulsion.

"Your Grace," she called out softly.

Joffrey gave her a reassuring smile. "Come forward my lady," he called out gently, and Sansa felt a new confidence as she approached the throne. _Everything will be fine,_ she thought. _Joffrey promised me he'd spare my father. This is all just a formality._

_"_The lady Sansa, of House Stark," the herald cried.

"Do you have some business for king and council, Sansa?" Queen Cersei asked from her seat near the throne.

"I do." She knelt down and looked up at Joffrey. "As it pleases Your Grace, I ask mercy for my father, Lord Eddard Stark, who was the Hand of the King."

Cersei frowned at her. "Sansa, you disappoint me. What did I tell you about traitor's blood?"

A chill crept down Sansa's spine. Hadn't... Joffrey talked to his mother about this? Didn't she know her father was to be pardoned?

"Your father has committed grave and terrible crimes, my lady," Grand Maester Pycelle intoned.

"Ah, poor sad thing," sighed Varys. "She is only a babe, my lords, she knows not what she asks."

Sansa had eyes only for Joffrey. She looked up at him hopefully. "Let her speak," the King commanded. "I'd like to hear what she has to say."

Sansa relaxed. "Thank you, Your Grace." She smiled up at him.

"Treason is a noxious weed," Pycelle declared. "It must be torn up, root and stem and seed, lest new traitors sprout from every roadside."

"Do you deny your father's crime?" Lord Baelish asked.

"No my lords." Sansa knew better than that. "I ask only for mercy. I know my lord father must regret what he did…" Briefly, she repeated to the assembled court much of what she had said to Joffrey privately, that her father had been King Robert's friend and loved him, and that Stannis or Renly or _someone_ must have lied to him. He hadn't even wanted to be Hand until the King asked him to serve...

When she was done speaking, Joffrey leaned forward, hands grasping the arms of the throne. He glanced briefly at his mother and then back at Sansa. "If Lord Stark were to confess to his crime, we would know he had repented his folly." He stood from his throne and surveyed his court. "So then, l've made my decision. If he does so, if he confesses, Lord Stark will be spared, no harm will come to him. If he does not, then he can expect no mercy from me."

* * *

When the bell ceased to toll, a quiet slowly began to settle on the great plaza outside the Sept of Baelor. Lord Stark raised his head and began to speak. "I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King. His voice carried across the plaza. "And I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of gods and men.

The crowd began to scream and shout. Taunts and jeers filled the air and Sansa hid her face in her hands.

Lord Stark continued. "I betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend, Robert. I swore to defend and protect his children, yet before his blood was cold, I plotted to depose and murder his son and seize the throne for myself. Let the High Septon and Baelor the Beloved and the Seven bear witness to the truth of what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, and by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

At this point a stone came sailing out of the crowd and hit Lord Stark in the forehead. The gold cloaks kept him from falling, but blood ran down his face from a deep gash. More stones followed and two Kingsguard stood in front of Joffrey and his mother to protect them with their shields.

The High Septon knelt before Joffrey. "As we sin, so do we suffer," he intoned in his deep voice. "This man has confessed his crimes in the sight of gods and men, here in this holy place. The gods are just, yet Blessed Baelor taught us that they are also merciful. What shall be done with this traitor, Your Grace?"

A thousand voices screamed out from the crowd. Joffrey stepped out from the shields of his Kingsguard and got a deafening cheer. "My mother bids me let Lord Eddard take the black. Lady Sansa has likewise begged mercy for her father." He looked at Sansa and smiled. "It is from the great love I bear her that I have made my decision," he said, turning back to face the crowd. "Lord Eddard Stark, who confessed to his treachery, willingly and with regret in his heart, is to receive a full royal pardon and will return to Winterfell where he will continue to serve me as Warden of the North until the end of his days." He turned to Lord Stark, and said loud enough for the crowd to hear, "remember, my lord, that a king may be merciful, but he does not grant his forgiveness twice."

Joffrey was surprised when the crowd gave a roar of approval at his noble sounding words. He knew they couldn't have expected him to kill Lord Stark and profane the Sept with blood, but just minutes before, they were throwing stones at the man. He didn't understand it, and at that moment he felt a burning hatred for the masses of people cheering him. His mother was frantically whispering in his ear. Yes, he knew the plan was to have him take the black and remove him from the game. He didn't reply to her in words, he simply shook his head. Sansa was crying again. Why was she crying? He'd given her what she wanted. Then she wrapped her arms around him, sobbing onto his shoulder as the mob cheered on and Joffrey got lost in his thoughts.

* * *

Holding court and dispensing justice was a dull thing most of the time. Nine out of ten cases were simply too boring and irrelevant to command Joffrey's attention. So he let the lessers who surrounded him make most of those decisions. His mother who was seated where he supposed Sansa would soon be, though as of yet his betrothed hadn't attended his court, or Baelish or Pycelle. It didn't really matter.

When a case did interest Joffrey though, he would let no one sway him from his decisions. When a thief was brought in for judgment, he'd had Ser Ilyn cut his hand off right then and there. Two knights came to him with a dispute over some worthless patch of land and he'd decreed that they should duel for it to the death the next morning. Then there was the woman who fell on her knees to plead for the head of a man executed as a traitor. Disgusting behavior if Joffrey had anything to say about it, but she'd said she'd loved him and wanted to see him decently buried.

"If you loved a traitor, you must be a traitor too," Joffrey told her, and he had two gold cloaks drag her off to the black cells.

Joffrey supposed the most amusing case so far was that of the tavern singer who'd sang a song ridiculing his father. As far as he could tell, after having the man perform the song in front of the court, it was quite accurate and rather funny, so he was merciful and did the singer the kindness of letting him choose to keep either his fingers or his tongue. Unfortunately, the man hesitated for too long and so Joffrey was forced to decide on the compromise of cutting out his tongue _and_ amputating the fingers on one of his hands.

Thankfully, that was the final business of that particular day, because Joffrey's head had been killing him since morning. Perhaps the fresh air would help. He decided to go find Sansa and take lunch with her in the gardens. She'd been quite happy these past few days.


	7. The Last Days of Peace

**So, I'm gonna be honest, I really don't have a good grasp on the military strategy stuff, which will be much more important in the following chapters, but I'm trying my best to write something that makes sense and if I fail at that, I'd welcome any suggestions for improvement.**

**Once again, thank you to everyone who reviewed, it means a lot.**

* * *

It was a week from Lord Eddard Stark's confession on the steps of the Sept of Baelor and Joffrey was relatively sure that he'd managed to subdue the North without any bloodshed. If nobody counted Lord Stark's household guard at least. Perhaps some in Winterfell would hold their deaths against him, but that was not enough of a pretext for war. No, the war on _that_ front had seemed to be averted. Robb Stark had begun to ride south through the Riverlands, but he hadn't fought a single battle before word reached him that his father had received a royal pardon. He'd never made it past the Twins.

In the south, the situation was more dire. Stannis had finally cast the dice and declared himself king from his seat on Dragonstone, announcing to the world through letters to high lords that Joffrey and his siblings were bastards born of incest. Besides that, he'd seemed to have done little else than bring a supposed sorceress from far Asshai to his "court," such as it was, on the rocky island stronghold, as he slowly continued to build up his forces. Joffrey didn't put much stock in claims of magical powers and from what he'd known of his uncle, he would have assumed that Stannis had thought the same way. He'd realized by now though, that he knew very little about his uncle at all.

But the more immediate threat was from Renly and the Reach. Predictably, the lords of the Stormlands were declaring for him rather than Stannis, but what was worse, his new ally, Mace Tyrell had closed the Roseroad to all shipments of food to King's Landing, and the war to the south and in the west would no doubt bring countless refugees streaming into the city, exacerbating it's problems even further. Meanwhile, Renly himself had finally left Highgarden and began his march to Joffrey's capital. Dark clouds gathered over the southern kingdoms as for the first time in his life, King Joffrey I prepared for a real battle.

As it was, he was practicing swordplay with Tommen on the morning that Lord Stark was to begin his journey back north, and… well, if he and his siblings really were Jaime's bastards, Tommen certainly hadn't inherited his father's skill with a blade. Perhaps Joffrey was not the best swordsman himself, but still.

Tommen seemed to think nothing of it though, laughing as he attempted to parry the blows of Joffrey's wooden practice sword. _Well_, _he can only improve with time,_ Joffrey thought, as once more, he smacked Tommen's hand, causing him to lose his grip on his sword. The brothers had been at it for around an hour when the Hound came into the courtyard.

"Your Grace," he said in his deep, rough voice, "Stark's leaving. Your mother expects you to see him off."

Joffrey looked over at Tommen, sweaty and red-faced but still grinning. "Let's pick this up tomorrow," he said.

* * *

Sansa hugged her father tightly one last time on the deck of the galley that would be taking him and Arya back north. She would be the last northerner of any importance who came down south with Robert Baratheon's great procession to remain in the capital at the dawning of King Joffrey's new era. "Be safe, father," she said. "Give my love to mother. And to Robb and Bran and Rickon." Her eyes were wet but she was smiling.

Lord Stark promised he would and looked at his daughter with a sad smile. It seemed like he wanted to say so much more to her, but Joffrey knew that he wouldn't. He _couldn't. _Joffrey inwardly grinned. Stark had the look of a defeated man. Joffrey had outplayed his father's old friend and it was _easy._

Ser Barristan and Ser Meryn Trant stood beside broken Lord Eddard. Joffrey had selected them to accompany Stark back to Winterfell to make sure that he wouldn't go running to Stannis. Yes, going by way of the Narrow Sea, they would be passing Dragonstone, but the captain had orders to skirt the coast of Essos, and anyway he didn't think that a likely possibility after the great show he'd made of granting Lord Stark pardon before the Realm.

Besides, Lord Eddard knew that his eldest daughter was essentially a hostage in King's Landing, A fact Sansa herself was blissfully ignorant of. Joffrey could have sent Stark back up the Kingsroad, but he had an uneasy feeling about the possibility of him joining up with his son's Northern army in the Riverlands.

In any case, when Joffrey gave him his solemn farewell, he was met only by Stark's cold glare and Arya was looking at him in much the same way.

* * *

The morning of the King's name day dawned bright and windy as a blood-red comet cut across the sky. Joffrey and Sansa walked arm in arm to the tourney grounds, but it was to be a small field today, and poor. Nothing like the great tourney held in honor of the man who had briefly served as Hand of the King. At that time, high lords and fabled champions from all over the realm had come to compete, but now the realm was disputed by three kings, or four if you counted Balon Greyjoy, and seemed set to tear itself apart on blood-soaked southern fields in the coming weeks.

Well, Joffrey supposed that Renly's tourneys were much grander affairs, but his uncle was a frivolous fool for wasting time and resources on such splendor in wartime. Renly had been made a poor excuse for a usurper by nature Joffrey decided. It was the Tyrells and the other great houses of the Reach and the Stormlands that gave him any legitimacy he might claim.

Joffrey and Sansa took their seats under the shade of a crimson canopy, Myrcella, Tommen, and the siblings' cousin, Joffrey's squire, Willem, sitting behind the royal couple. In the back of the royal box, the Hound stood at guard, his hands resting on his sword belt. Joffrey had considered replacing one of the more inept members of the kingsguard with his dog, but he doubted Clegane would want that. The man was no knight as he would be the first to admit.

Still, somehow Joffrey felt safer under the Hound's close guard than he did under the protection of even his uncle Jaime or Ser Barristan. Sandor Clegane had been a constant presence in his life since long before he'd gone to Casterly Rock, and though never an affectionate man by any means, Joffrey recalled that in those happier days, long ago, Clegane had sometimes smiled and let him ride on his shoulders.

Tommen's face brightened when Joffrey and Sansa took their seats. "Lady Sansa, did you hear?" he asked, jumping up eagerly. "I'm to ride in the tourney today! Mother said I could."

Sansa smiled at him. "I fear for the life of your foeman," she told him solemnly.

Joffrey chuckled. "His foeman will be stuffed with straw."

Tommen sulked at that as Myrcella giggled from beside him.

Sansa looked at Joffrey, clad in gilded breastplate with a roaring lion engraved upon it's chest. "Will you enter the lists today?" she asked, her tone a mixture of pride and worry.

"No," Joffrey said with a frown. "My mother said it wouldn't be fitting, since the tourney is in my honor. Although," he smiled, "I suppose I'd be champion otherwise. Don't you think so, Hound?"

Clegane turned towards him. "Against this lot? Why not? Though you'd only be champion over a bunch of gnats."

Joffrey laughed. "You have a fierce bark, dog. Maybe I should command you to fight the day's champion."

"Perhaps a fight to the death between the two, Your Grace," said Willem eagerly.

"Then the King would be one knight the poorer," was all the Hound said to that.

Joffrey grinned.

Then the trumpets sounded and Joffrey took Sansa's hand as the first combatants entered the yard. And the Hound was right, this was a tourney of gnats. Joffrey watched on, bored, as the jousts went on.

_"Lothor Brune, freerider in the service of Lord Baelish," _cried the herald_, _a few matches into the tournament. "_Ser Dontos the Red, of House Hollard."_

The free rider, a small man in dented plate without device, duly appeared at the west end of the yard, but of his opponent there was no sign. Finally a chesnut stallion trotted into view in a swirl of crimson and scarlet silks, but Ser Dontos was not on it. The knight appeared a moment later, cursing and staggering after his horse. He was clad in breastplate and plumed helm and nothing else. The spectators roared and shouted insults at the man. Catching his horse by the bridle, Ser Dontos tried to mount, but the animal would not stand still and the knight was so drunk that his bare foot kept missing the stirrup.

And the crowd howled with laughter, but Joffrey was not laughing. This drunken knight was disgracing his name day more than any of the other incompetent gnats on the field.

Finally, Ser Dontos gave up even trying to get on to his horse. He sat down in the dirt and removed his plumed helm. "I lose," he shouted. "Fetch me some wine."

Joffrey rose up from his seat in a rage. "A cask from the cellars! "I'll see him drowned in it!"

He heard Sansa gasp and she turned to him in surprise. "What? No, you can't!"

Joffrey turned his head, scowling. He looked at her, and could see her face grow frightened. He relaxed his expression towards her, then turned back to that fool who called himself a knight and who looked terrified. _Fool. _He smirked. Now there was an idea...

"Never mind. As it's my name day I've decided to be merciful. Dontos, you're much better fitted to be a fool than a knight, aren't you? Well that's what you'll be from now on. My new fool."

Sansa gave a sigh of relief, while Dontos had apparently been sobered by his near brush with death and crawled to his knees. "Thank you, Your Grace."

As a brace of Lannister guardsmen led him off, the master of revels approached the box. "Your Grace," he said, "shall i summon a new challenger for Brune, or proceed with the next tilt?"

"Neither. These men are gnats, not Knights. The tourney is done. Get them all out of my sight."

"Wait, Joff!" Tommen said, "I'm supposed to ride against the straw man. Mother said I could."

"It's true, she said," Myrcella nodded in agreement.

Joffrey sighed. "Fine. Master, bring out the quintain, Tommen wants to be a gnat."

Tommen gave a shout of joy and ran off to be readied.

"Good luck," Sansa called to him. And then she briefly glanced at Joffrey and her expression was odd, but she quickly averted her eyes towards the courtyard.

They set up the quintain at the far end of the lists while Tommen's pony was being saddled. His opponent was a child sized leather warrior stuffed with straw and mounted on a pivot, with a shield in one hand and a padded mace in the other.

A pair of squires buckled Tommen into his ornate silver and crimson armor. A tall plume of red feathers sprouted from the crest of his helm, and the lion of Lannister and crowned stag of Baratheon frolicked together on his shield. The squires helped him mount, and Ser Aron Santagar, the Red Keep's master-at-arms, stepped forward and handed him a blunted silver longsword with a leaf-shaped blade.

Tommen raised the blade high. "Casterly Rock!" he shouted and sped onward, waving his sword. He struck the straw knight's shield a solid blow as he went by, but the quintain spun, the padded mace flying around to whack him in the back of the head. He spilled from the saddle, his armor rattling like a bag of old pots as he hit the ground. His sword went flying, his pony cantered away across the bailey, and a great gale of laughter went up. Joffrey couldn't help laughing himself.

Meanwhile, Myrcella's face paled and she scrambled out of the box and ran to Tommen's side.

Sansa turned to Joffrey and spoke tentatively "You should go with her. Make sure he's alright."

Joffrey stopped laughing and frowned at her. " Oh. No. No, i'm sure he's well enough…" Joffrey said the words awkwardly as Sansa seemed to study him.

"But…" Sansa said, "You should go down and tell him how well he rode."

Joffrey blinked. "He didn't though. You saw. He got knocked from his horse and fell in the dirt. That's not riding well."

"Look," the Hound interrupted, and Joffrey turned to see Tommen being helped back onto his pony. "The boy has courage at least. He's going to try again."

* * *

Joffrey had been quite eager to join in on his father's small council meetings when the King's party had first arrived back from Winterfell, but to be perfectly honest, the novelty was wearing off fast and Joffrey was increasingly bored every time one was held. He was half-listening to what Baelish was saying about the need for a new tax directed at incoming refugees to King's Landing when the door to the council chambers opened and in walked his uncle imp, humming some irritating tune.

The discussion of the council stopped abruptly and Joffrey looked up, annoyed. "What do you want, imp? We're busy."

"Oh, no doubt, no doubt, dear nephew, these are quite interesting times we're living in after all," the imp replied cheerfully.

"Go away. Or _you _won't be living through them much longer."

"Nephew, you wound me," Tyrion said, affecting a hurt tone. "I am simply taking my rightful place among Your Grace's councilors," he said as he clambered into a seat.

"…What?"

He smiled and handed Joffrey a letter. "From your lord grandfather. His raven arrived this morning. While he's fighting your war in the Reach, I am to serve as Hand of the King."

Joffrey read the letter angrily. There was no doubt that the gold seal belonged to Lord Tywin Lannister. "The nerve of the old man," he muttered. _I'm _the king now, I should be able to choose my own Hand."

"You did, and I'm sure you chose wisely after long reflection on the matter, but now your choice has chosen me to represent him while he marches east with fire and sword. Be grateful nephew, he's gifted you with my wits. Now then! What were we talking about?"

Joffrey just frowned, and his mother looked at her brother scornfully. "Father was commanded to bring his army to King's Landing"

"So he was. And he ignored the command. As he has quite a large army, he can do that."

She glared at Tyrion. "He dares disobey the King's orders?"

"Not the King's, but yours, sweet sister. Renly has already begun his march to the city and at this rate, is set to reach it before father ever could. However, taking the majority of his host and those rainbow knights of his with him on the Roseroad, his forces in the rest of the Reach are stretched rather thin and father proposes to take advantage of that."

Mother frowned. "Joffrey, darling, let me see that letter." He handed it to her.

"What good will father invading the Reach do us if Renly marches on the city or Stannis sails from Dragonstone?" She said after reading. "He can't make these decisions without Joff's consent."

"For now he has it," Joffrey said quietly. "He... Always seems to know what he's doing I suppose. Fine then uncle, you will serve temporarily as my Hand. Only until such time as he himself can join us"

Pycelle stroked his beard and nodded ponderously. "Well, it would seem then, that a welcome is in order."

"Indeed," Janos Slynt agreed. The balding, frog-faced, newly made lord had gained his seat on the council after his City Watch's betrayal of Lord Stark. "We have sore need of you my lord, rebellion everywhere, the grim omen of the blood-red comet in the sky, food riots in the streets that will only get worse in the coming weeks…"

"Well I do thank you for the show of confidence," Tyrion said. "My lords, perchance you would permit me a private word with my sister and nephew?"

Joffrey rose from his seat. "No need. I grow weary of you all and I've decided that discussions are done for the day. I will contemplate our situation in my chambers tonight, because I've found that I am my own best councilor." With that, Joffrey left the council chambers and gradually, Pycelle, Varys, Baelish and Slynt followed, but his mother and uncle remained behind.

* * *

Joffrey and Sansa walked arm in arm through the green garden paths until they stopped to sit at the edge of a pond, shaded by tall trees from the bright sun of the southern summer.

And summer was almost gone.

"Pycelle said so at the beginning of the small council today," Joffrey told her. "He said that a white raven came from the Citadel and that meant the long summer was at it's end."

_Winter is coming._ Sansa had heard her father speak the words of her House countless times in her life, and now, it was really, truly, coming. "I was only three years old when the last winter ended," Sansa said. "I don't remember it at all. Father says it was a short winter but very cruel."

"I was very young," Joffrey said. "But I remember the snows. They went on for weeks at a time I think. The city is always white and frozen in my earliest memories." Joffrey sighed. "Hopefully autumn will be long and warm enough for us to adequately prepare, and when the winds of winter come, the wars will be long done and the kingdoms united."

His face darkened for a moment, but then Joffrey looked at Sansa and grinned. "And now preparations for our wedding should be made all the faster, don't you think? I'll tell mother to hurry them up. We'll have a great feast in the open air while skies are still blue and the sun still shines. It must be a grand wedding because our union will mark the dawn of a new era in the world."

Sansa smiled back at him and rested her head on Joffrey's shoulders contentedly. Despite all her foreboding for the days to come, on this day, all seemed right with the world.


	8. The Clash of Kings Begins

Tyrion had just gotten into bed with the girl when to his immense dismay, he realized he had forgotten to lock his chamber doors. His nephew had burst through them, crossbow in hand, with a manic look on his face.

"You have five seconds to leave before I shoot your eye out, whore," Joffrey spat at the poor girl, who was forced to hurry out before she could even get dressed. His nephew's crazed eyes never left Tyrion.

"So," Joffrey said as he paced the room, still gripping that damn crossbow. "So, so, so... What game do you think you're playing uncle imp?"

Tyrion looked at his nephew for a long moment. "Joffrey, I-"

"Don't speak to me as you speak to everyone else!" Joffrey interrupted with a shout. "I'm your King and you're my Hand and for the good of _my _kingdoms I expect only honesty from you at all times. Not dealings in the shadows behind my back!"

"I- assume you're referring to Janos Slynt?" Some days ago, Tyrion had had the man sent to the Wall. Slynt had shown during the earlier ordeal with Eddard Stark that he could be bought, and even though this time his own family were able to place the highest bid for his services, he wasn't a man who could safely be trusted, and anyway, Tyrion didn't much like the choices he'd put forward to be his successor in command of the City Watch. Thus, he'd taken action and had him replaced with Ser Jacelyn Bywater, an honorable man who had served with valor during the Greyjoy Rebellion where he'd lost a hand. He wasn't surprised it had taken his nephew this long to figure out Slynt was gone. Over the past few weeks the boy's attendance of Small Council meetings had become irregular to say the least.

"Not just him!" Joffrey screamed. No, not just him. But he was a lord and a member of the Small Council by my grace. You had no right to do anything to him without my consent. I am the _King!"_

"Joffrey, As your grandfather told you by raven, it was folly to name that butcher's son Lord of Harrenhal. And you've heard of what's been going on in the city streets. Slynt's lost control. Can you honestly tell me you think he was anything more than an incompetent who rose unduly above his station?"

"No, Joffrey answered immediately. "No, he's useless. His City Watch can scarcely keep the smallfolk from open revolt I've heard. Actually, I was contemplating killing him myself soon. Personally I mean, but you've spoiled that fun. Do you know uncle, I've never yet killed a man with my own hands. One day very soon I'll have to remedy that shameful lack of experience... Or I could put a bolt through your heart right now." Joffrey aimed his crossbow at Tyrion.

Tyrion refused to be intimidated. "Do you fear me nephew? A man only kills what he's afraid of, not what he holds in contempt."

There was a long, tense moment as uncle and nephew held each other's gaze.

"We shall see," Joffrey finally said, but mercifully, he lowered his crossbow. "Allar Deem, though, Slynt's right hand. From what I've heard that man was really _feared_ by the smallfolk in the streets. I was going to appoint him Commander of the City Watch once Slynt took his place at Harrenhal. Yes, I was going to, but he's disappeared and nobody can tell me anything of his fate. A shame. By all accounts he was very loyal and that's a hard quality to find in a man, don't you think uncle? Especially nowadays. Lord Janos told me he'd never been known to question an order." Joffrey smiled, but the light of menace was in his eyes.

"Oh, so I've heard," Tyrion said. "In fact, I believe he was often known to go above and beyond in his duties. For instance, what was it they said about that trouble in a brothel a few weeks back? After dashing that infant girl's brains out against the wall, he took it upon himself to stab the mother to death as well."

Joffrey shrugged. "He told her to step aside but she didn't listen. The order I gave was only to kill the babe. Anyway, a dead whore is no loss to the realm."

Tyrion controlled his anger. "Ah. So, it was you who sent the gold cloaks to that brothel. I'd thought it may have been my dear sister."

"Oh yes, mother gave me the idea. We discussed it. Anyway, all of father's bastards were living like filthy commoners —well bastards deserve no better of course— so I did them a favor by giving the order to end their lives. We haven't got all of them yet but we will," Joffrey said brightly as a grin lit up his face. It was just like his nephew to go from ranting and red-faced anger to easy smiles and cruel laughter in the space of a few minutes.

_But you're wrong nephew,_ Tyrion thought. _ You won't_ _be_ _murdering_ _any more_ _innocent__ children_ _for the crime of their birth. _With the gold cloaks under Ser Jacelyn hopefully on his side, Tyrion would do all he could to stay Joffrey and Cersei from their savage course.

"And you really think that wise?" He said in response to Joffrey's gloating. "Robert's bastards were never exactly a secret. How do you think it looks for them to be killed off one by one, and quite publicly I may add, with the shadow of doubt Stannis continues to cast on your own parentage?"

Joffrey laughed. "Probably Jaime is my father. I don't care either way, I'll still slaughter anybody who says so."

Tyrion brought his palm to his head in frustration. Joffrey was making his job harder than it needed to be. He'd really have to find some way to distract the boy from getting too involved in the affairs of the realm.

"Now uncle," Joffrey said. "I've heard whispers that you sent a raven to Doran Martell." He looked at Tyrion suspiciously.

"You've heard correctly," Tyrion admitted. Joffrey would find out soon enough either way, and worse, so would Cersei.

Joffrey looked exasperated. "...Tell me why."

"To make a deal. Joffrey, you know as well as I that our current situation being what it is, we need all the allies we can get. Even if it's just to ensure they don't rise up against us... Myrcella is of an age to be betrothed."

Joffrey waved his hand dismissively. "The Martells hate us. She'd be a hostage and nothing more if she isn't poisoned within a week. Didn't you think of Robert Arryn in the Vale?"

"I've given thought to all sides of the matter. Dorne has a slightly higher military potential than the Vale and is thus a slightly greater potential threat. Besides that, the likelihood of the Starks and Tullys entering the war on the side of Stannis is a worst-case scenario we have to prepare for in light of recent events. If Lysa Arryn is going to take a side, I can't see it being against her sister. Should the North and the Riverlands remain loyal to the crown, then Dorne is an even better ally simply by virtue of geography. We may even be able to get Prince Doran to launch an attack on the Reach and Stormlands from the south. Anyway, you misjudge the Martells. I think Myrcella would be a good deal safer in Dorne than she is here."

"What are you going on about? Dorne is more like to join up with Renly than send troops to help us. And then- and then…" Joffrey's face paled in fear and Tyrion almost pitied him.

"Joffrey, listen to me, the Martells have every cause to hate us. Nobody can deny that. But Prince Doran's grievances against our family only go back a generation. Dornishmen have warred with Storm's End and Highgarden for a thousand years. And Renly takes their eventual allegiance to him for granted... I have proposed a match between Myrcella and Trystane Martell. They will wed when she reaches the age of fourteen and until then she will be an honored guest at Sunspear, under Prince Doran's protection. He is too honorable a man to murder a ten year old girl."

Joffrey seemed to think everything over. "But a betrothal won't be enough," he finally said. "We would need some way to insure their continued loyalty."

"Which is why I offered them both Gregor Clegane-" Joffrey looked to interrupt but Tyrion raised his voice and went on, "—because yes, your grandfather would agree with me that the life of one rabid dog is worth fifty thousand Dornishmen— and a seat on the Small Council. That will give us a hostage, and the Dornish a voice in the affairs of the realm."

Joffrey's expression turned to one of righteous anger again in the blink of an eye. "_You _offered them?! I really can't abide such things, uncle. I'm the King and-

"Yes, yes I know, you've seen fit to inform me of that multiple times just tonight!" Tyrion interrupted, losing his patience. " I am the hand and I have been doing my utmost to keep you safe on your throne while you've been busy pulling the wings off flies. The raven is already on it's way south and yes, the letter it carries is written in your name. Do you think to deny the Martells if they accept our offer? Then you really will stand alone and friendless amid the ashes of the realm!"

Joffrey's face reddened. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it with a gulp as he gave Tyrion a hateful stare. "Very well then," he said after a few moments. "send Myrcella to Sunspear. But from now on you can't- I mean... Well if- If Prince Doran's reply does not please me, I will see to it that you suffer greatly uncle!" He clutched his crossbow tightly as he strode out of the room.

Once his nephew was gone, Tyrion got out of bed and waddled over to his desk. He sighed as he poured a glass of wine. It seemed that every time he talked to Joffrey these days, he had to check to make sure his head was still attached to his body afterwards. He thanked the gods he didn't believe existed that at least Joffrey hadn't seemed to have known about his meeting with the pyromancers.

* * *

Joffrey left his uncle's chambers with a dark scowl on his face. It seemed almost nothing was going right lately and he was tired of his authority not being properly respected. He should be the first to be told of any plans and schemes being made. Nothing should be allowed to go forward without his approval! And he was sick to death of his servants failing him in every task and on every front.

But then, that wasn't entirely the case.

Grandfather was the exception in that regard. He and Jaime had stormed the Reach like lightning with all the might of the Westerlands behind them, along with some Crownlands troops Joffrey had sent over before the fighting began in earnest.

Grandfather had sent Gregor Clegane to ravage the land indiscriminately, killing, plundering, burning crops and torching villages wherever he went, before making a quick retreat with his small force rather than face any large army. Meanwhile, Tywin and Jaime marched down the Ocean Road at the head of an army around fifty thousand strong after having rapidly captured the poorly defended castle of Old Oak and putting it to the sword. They were riding fast towards Highgarden itself, now defended by only ten thousand troops. Renly had had no choice but to quickly send some of his host back west to reinforce the seat of House Tyrell.

And Renly had been marching slower than anyone on Joffrey's council had predicted, stopping multiple times to feast and hold court along the way to King's Landing, as every day more men rallied to his banners. Now Joffrey was told he resided at the castle which served as the seat of House Caswell at Bitterbridge where the slow-moving river Mander met the Roseroad.

But in spite of his grandfather's recent victories, Joffrey knew his situation was precarious and made all the more so because that ingrate, Eddard Stark had betrayed him! Again! In the unlikely event that the captain of the galley Joffrey had sent north ever returned alive, he'd be put to death immediately for letting this situation come to pass. He'd apparently somehow managed to get his ship spotted and captured by Stannis's forces in the Narrow Sea. Now Lord Stark and Ser Barristan were both on Dragonstone, publicly declaring their support for Stannis. There had been no word of Meryn Trant, and Joffrey supposed that meant he'd been loyal to his true king and had paid with his life for it.

Joffrey certainly hadn't expected Barristan to turn traitor. If anything, he'd considered him possibly the most loyal among his Kingsguard, but the continued treachery of Eddard Stark had really shocked him. Joffrey hadn't thought the man would dare make another move against him, and admittedly when he'd heard the news, he'd took to his chambers and had refused to leave them for the next two days.

Then he'd written a frantic letter to Robb Stark.

He'd hoped to summon the lords of the North and the Riverlands to the capital to pledge fealty to him but the situation was delicate enough that he'd have to put that off for the time being. Uncle imp was right. There was a very real possibility that they, and possibly even Lysa Arryn and the Vale who so far refused to get involved in the conflict either way, could go over to Stannis and if that happened, most of the Realm would be against him and the war would almost certainly be lost.

When Sansa had been told of what had happened with her father, Joffrey had had to quickly assure her that he was alright and that according to the letters her father and Stannis had sent out, so was Arya.

Strangely enough, Sansa seemed to cling more and more to Joffrey's side during these dark days of uncertainty as many men felt the world they had known was passing away into darkness. Perhaps because most everyone else in the Red Keep either ignored her or treated her with open contempt. The murmurs about traitor's blood grew louder and there was talk that a marriage to her would pollute the royal line for all time to come. Nothing was said to the king's face of course, but Varys wasn't the only one with hidden ears and eyes.


End file.
